


Someone Tell the Referee to Stop Calling Out My Love

by Tolstoyevsky



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - Soccer, FIFA World Cup 2018, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Y'all are you ready for sPORTS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-31 04:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15111506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tolstoyevsky/pseuds/Tolstoyevsky
Summary: Russian football star Viktor Nikiforov has long been his country’s ace player. Now, as the captain of the national team, he hopes to win gold for Russia on his home turf at the 2018 FIFA World Cup. And maybe break a goal-scoring record — that is, if his teammate Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t beat him to it.Enter Yuuri Katsuki, an up-and-coming Japanese player who’s still weathering the nerves of his first World Cup. Yuuri’s always admired Viktor, but he never thought he’d have the chance to go toe-to-toe with his idol on the playing field…Sparksand footballswill fly, but penalties will be called. Will Yuuri’s and Viktor’s love have a chance of qualifying for the next round?





	1. Qualifying Phase

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure silliness born out of my love for FIFA.

Viktor has many names, but he's never needed more than one. In the football world, he's Nikiforov: a one-name wonder, like Pele, Maradona, Messi, Ronaldo. He's the Ace of St. Petersburg, Russia's national hero, and his fans follow his career with an admiration bordering on obsession. In America, where the sport is called soccer, they've affectionately dubbed him Viknik. His teammates call him Vitya, or Vik, if they're in the middle of a game and need to save time. His full name is Viktor Andreievich Nikiforov, but only his (easily frustrated) coach calls him that. He's the Prince of penalty kicks, the Fergie of football. And now that Russia is hosting the 2018 FIFA World Cup, his name is everywhere: on the radio, in the newspaper, on TV, even in casual conversation. 

_Nikiforov, captain of the national team-_

_Exclusive interview with Russian midfielder Nikiforov, who has scored a record number of goals this past season._

_Hoping to win the World Cup, 27 year-old football star Nikiforov-_

_Did you see Nikiforov in that last game?_

But that doesn't affect the man in question. Sure, Nikiforov soaks up the spotlight; football is as much about performance as it is technique, and the crowd loves his smiles and shouts and polite yet firm stare-downs with the referee. In the end, though, none of that changes how he sees himself. He's just Viktor, a man who loves football. 

Right now, he's not even thinking about himself. Viktor is at a press conference, staring across the long table of interviewees at a Japanese player sitting at the far end. Yuuri Katsuki, a 23 year-old forward with dark eyes and soft cheeks. He bows his head before the reporters, gaze hidden beneath long lashes. This is his first World Cup. Yuuri is shy and unused to the camera, but his lips quirk up into an excited smile as he talks about playing for Japan. And when a reporter asks how he feels about competing against so many other talented athletes, Viktor can feel Yuuri's eyes slide toward him and rest there- for a fraction of a second- before he cups his hands and says, 

"I'm looking forward to it." 

Damn. 

That boy can call Viktor _anything_ he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the title sounds like a Fall Out Boy song.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about the Japanese or Russian soccer teams. Someone, educate me. XD (I rooted for Germany 4 years ago, and they already got disqualified this time around, so I am still looking for a team to cheer for.)
> 
> Thank you for reading <3 To be continued! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> And if you like, follow me on tumblr at [tolstoyevskywrites](http://tolstoyevskywrites.tumblr.com), where I blog about YOI and Star Trek.


	2. Group Round

The Japanese team’s daily practice is about to start, but Yuuri is still sitting in the stands. He’s on his phone, watching a YouTube video of yesterday’s game between Russia and Switzerland. It was an exciting match; Russia won 2-1 thanks to a last-minute goal by Yuri Plisetsky. Truth be told, though, Yuuri is paying more attention to the Russian captain than anyone else. He’s always been Viktor Nikiforov’s fan, and his strategy is incredible. With yesterday’s win, Russia rose to the top of their competition group and qualified for the Round of 16. Yuuri listens to the commentators, who are American, and follows along with the game. Maybe Japan can learn from Russia’s success. 

“ _I like how the camera periodically zooms in on Nikiforov’s face, like it’s checking the development of the game based on whether or not he’s smiling._ ” 

“ _To be fair, Johnny, that is a pretty good metric._ ” 

“ _That's true, Tara – whoa! A stunning pass from Christophe Giacometti!_ ” 

Nikiforov races past Giacometti, nearly bowling him over in pursuit of the ball. Yuuri sighs longingly. 

…Okay, so he has a huge crush on Viktor Nikiforov. 

One of Yuuri’s teammates comes to peer over his shoulder. Minami Kenjirou is eighteen, a bright-eyed blond with a shock of red hair framing his forehead. He is Yuuri’s self-proclaimed biggest fan, tap-dances for fun, and knows all the words to the “Waka Waka” theme song from the 2010 World Cup. 

“What’re you watching, Yuuri-kun?” 

“The Russia-Switzerland game.” 

“ _Plisetsky’s face when he falls is a portrait of righteous fury._ ” 

“Who are these commentators?” Minami asks, cackling. 

“I don't know, some Americans?” Yuuri shrugs. He is too busy analyzing the formations of Viktor Nikiforov's chiseled face- uh, that is to say, the Russian team. 

Minami tugs on his arm, gesturing to the field. 

“Come on, Yuuri, it’s time for practice!” 

“ _Yeah_ , Yuuri,” calls Nishigori. He’s the team captain and goalie, and one of Yuuri’s childhood friends. “You’ll never play against Viktor if you don’t get off your phone!” 

Frowning, Yuuri stands up and starts walking toward the field. Everyone on this team knows him too well. 

***

That evening finds Yuuri sitting at a quiet coffee shop, watching the Russia-Switzerland game on his computer. He’s completely absorbed in the video; nothing can distract him. 

(Almost nothing, that is.) 

“ _Privyet_ ,” says a voice. Even in Russian, Yuuri would recognize it anywhere. He suppresses the urge to slam his computer shut, because that would be particularly embarrassing, and turns around in his chair. 

Viktor Nikiforov is smiling down at him. _Actual angel Viktor Nikiforov._ He is holding a cappuccino in one hand, the other resting in the pocket of his trenchcoat. A Russian flag scarf falls around his shoulders, reaching his waist. His silver hair frames his face, and his blue eyes are fixed on Yuuri. 

“O-oh, um, _privyet_ ,” He says, mangling the word. 

Yuuri and Viktor have seen each other at press conferences leading up to the Cup, but they haven’t talked. It’s Yuuri’s fault; his nerves always get the better of him. One time, Viktor even asked if he wanted to take a commemorative photo. Yuuri freaked out and sprinted away so quickly, his coach would have been proud of his athleticism. 

“What are you up to?” Viktor asks, after formal introductions are made. 

“I was… Studying.” 

Viktor laughs, not unkindly, and sits down in the chair opposite Yuuri’s. 

“Studying?” 

“We have a game tomorrow, against England.” 

“I know.” 

Yuuri’s face flushes. Of course Viktor knows that; he’s in this competition. Silence passes between them, and Yuuri scrambles to think of what to say. 

“Y-your team’s strategies. They’re really creative, and I thought Japan could get some inspiration from them.” 

Viktor lights up – not what he was expecting – and shifts his chair closer to Yuuri’s, pausing the YouTube video that’s been running in the background during their entire conversation. 

“What would you like to know?” 

_Is this happening_? Yuuri thinks. Or maybe says out loud. Whatever. 

“Well, um, Harry Kane’s goals are dangerous, and we need a way to get past England’s defense.” 

Viktor nods. “The English play a fast game. If you’re going to keep up, you have to focus on quick, speedy passes. Don’t dribble the ball, and keep pushing forward. No backward passes when you’re trying to attack.” 

“Okay,” Yuuri says, mentally taking notes. 

“You can’t _really_ hold off Kane unless you trip him, but I wouldn’t risk the yellow card. England tends to play clean. You should, too. Just focus on the football.” 

“We can manage that,” Yuuri says with a smile. He fidgets with the edge of his computer, eyes darting to the screen. “Um, can I ask…” 

Viktor looks almost concerned. 

“Yeah?” 

“How did you beat Switzerland yesterday? I mean, the game was wild! 1 to 1, going down into the last five minutes, and you scored that insane goal–“ 

Any unease that Viktor might have shown has disappeared. He’s laughing now, more warmly than in any of the dozens of interviews Yuuri has watched. 

“It was a lot of luck. That and we drilled that exact scenario in advance, what we would do if we were tied with only a few minutes to go.” Viktor hits the play button, and the video starts up again. “See how I passed to Popovich, instead of trying to score? That was what Switzerland was expecting; they had their whole defense lined up around me. Instead, Popovich passed to Plisetsky, where there weren’t as many defenders.” 

He leans in toward Yuuri, as if he’s about to reveal the secret of football. 

“You have to do the opposite of what people expect. How else will you surprise them?” 

That makes a lot of sense. Surprise isn’t an often-used word in Yuuri’s vocabulary, but maybe it should be. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

“You’re welcome…” Viktor trails off, considering something.“Tell you what. I’ll run through England’s last game with you, the one where they beat Tunisia. And if you win against England tomorrow, you have to tell me how you did it.” 

Yuuri beams. 

“It’s a deal!” 

Viktor pulls out his cell phone and creates a new contact, then hands it to Yuuri. 

“Shall we trade numbers?” 

_This is definitely not happening_ , Yuuri tells himself, but he hands Viktor his phone regardless. 

“I’d be happy to.” 

***

The next day, Japan beats England 3-2 and qualifies for the Round of 16. Viktor Nikiforov, captain of the Russian team, could not be happier. 

He receives a text later that night. 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Hi, this is Yuuri. Thank you so much for your help! 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
You're welcome! Don’t go breaking your promise now ;) 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
I won’t. Lunch tomorrow? 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Sounds like a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, looks like Japan is out of the real-life World Cup, but they played a great last game. Russia's still in the running.
> 
> The commentators are named after Johnny Weir and Tara Lipinski, who broadcast for figure skating together. XD
> 
> Harry Kane is the captain of the English national team.


	3. Round of 16

**FIFA Players Spotted On Coffee Date In Moscow!**

**Who is Yuuri Katsuki? Behind the Japanese Soccer Star’s Incredible Success**

**Nikiforov and Katsuki: Are They Together?**

**Life, Love and Amazing Legs: Viktor Nikiforov’s Most Important L-Words**

***

Spending time with Viktor, Yuuri finds, isn’t difficult after all. 

When they first met in the coffee shop, Yuuri was sweating so much, and his face was so red, that he felt like he could catch fire: the real-life Katniss of this year’s Hunger Games – um, FIFA World Cup. Most people let Yuuri know when he’s acting weird, so he wasn’t sure why Viktor stayed quiet about it. He must not have been bothered; actually, Viktor seemed quite happy. 

In a strange way, they settle into a routine. Yuuri and Viktor meet for lunch the next day, as planned, and for breakfast the following morning. Viktor texts Yuuri at random hours with football commentary, photos of his dog, angry candids of Yuri Plisetsky – and Yuuri replies with his opinions, photos of _his_ dog, selfies taken with Minami and Nishigori. Something – he has no idea what – is happening between them, and it feels surprisingly natural. 

Yuuri’s teammates have caught on, of course. Nishigori won’t stop teasing him about his Russian lover, even though it _isn’t like that_ , and Fujiwara asks if he can finally let his sister know that Yuuri is taken. 

“No offense, Yuuri-chan, but she talks about you all the time.” 

“I’d be tired of that too,” he says with a wry smile, before walking away. 

It doesn’t take long for the media to find out. One morning, Yuuri and the rest of the team wake up for practice, only to find a pack of reporters outside their hotel. 

“Mr. Katsuki, can you comment on this photo of you and Mr. Nikiforov at the Little Blue Tea Shop –“ 

“ _Katsuki-san_ , how has your relationship with _Nikiforov-san_ affected your performance at this Cup so far?” 

“My what now?” Yuuri asks, his ears ringing from all the noise. He isn’t thinking of Viktor right now; the team’s match against Belgium is tomorrow. If Japan loses, they’re out of the competition. “T-those are rumors; that’s all–“ 

“Hey, paparazzi!” Nishigori yells. “We’re here to win a World Cup, not talk about our private lives!” 

The crowd looks stunned, if only because most people don’t have the nerve to talk back to the media. But this is Nishigori, who never lets a reporter ask him a question he doesn’t want to answer. Yuuri’s so grateful, it almost hurts. 

(Though maybe that’s just the ringing in his ears). 

By the time they get to the stadium, he’s fired up – and in a good way. Japan’s coach, Okukawa Minako, leads them through a series of drills. Yuuri’s shots land cleanly in the goal. They practice potential scenarios, the way Viktor suggested to Yuuri. Everyone is focused, and the team leaves knowing that no matter what happens tomorrow, they’ll play at the top of their game. 

Yuuri takes his time stretching after practice. He enjoys the quiet of the stadium before a big match. No fans cheering or horns blaring, no broadcasters commenting on his every move, the arena filled only with wind and expectation. 

He’s still making his way down the corridor outside the changing room when he runs into the Russian team. Their practice is scheduled right after Japan’s. Instantly, his eyes find Viktor – though it’s not like Yuuri was looking for him, or anything. 

Viktor catches sight of Yuuri just as quickly. His teammate Georgi Popovich grins and elbows Viktor, nudging him in the direction of the Japanese forward. 

“Hey, Vitya, your boyfriend’s here.” 

“Shh.” Viktor raises a pleading finger to his lips. “He isn't my boyfriend–“ 

“ _Yet_ ,” Georgi adds, in that conspiratorial tone that only he has mastered. 

“Oh my god,” hisses Yuri Plisetsky. He’s shoved past the other players, bowling over Viktor on his way to the field, and lets out an actual growl when he sees Yuuri. “Out of my way, pig!” 

“U-um?” Yuuri steps politely out of the way. Plisetsky is only eighteen, short and slight, but he already knows how to terrify his opponents. Yuuri wishes he’d had that kind of intimidation factor as a teenager. He watches Plisetsky stomp away, feeling curious and only mildly offended. 

In the meantime, Viktor has approached Yuuri with all the stealth and speed a striker needs to steal the ball and score an unexpected goal. 

“Sorry about Plisetsky. Little tiger child.” Viktor runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “He’s been like that all day.” 

“It’s fine – o-oh, hi,” Yuuri stammers. _When did Viktor get so close?_

The Russian player purses his lips, and Yuuri ducks his head in embarrassment. If Viktor is expecting suave charm, he won’t find it here; Yuuri’s about as smooth as a garden potato. 

Strangely, though, Viktor doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Hi, cutie,” he teases. 

Yuuri's face turns redder than the sun on the Japanese flag. 

“Cutie, me?” 

Viktor lifts a brow. He slips an arm around Yuuri’s waist and draws him close. 

“I don't see any other cuties around here,” he murmurs, lips curling into a smile. “Do you?” 

Yuuri chuckles, hoping Viktor can’t feel how hard his heart is pounding. 

“M-maybe just one.” 

It’s the right thing to say, because Viktor looks delighted. Gently, he lifts his hand to the nape of Yuuri’s neck. 

(Yuuri is ready to faint, right here.) 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Viktor’s wide smile dissolves into a soft chuckle. He cradles Yuuri’s head, running his fingers through the soft strands of hair. But just as Yuuri leans into the touch, they’re interrupted. 

“Hey, Viktor, hurry the _hell up_! We can’t start without the captain!” 

At the end of the corridor, Yuri Plisetsky stands with his arms crossed, a small blond ball of rage. 

“All right, I’m coming,” Viktor calls. He offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Yuuri.” 

“Don’t worry… The World Cup waits for no one, right?” 

Viktor laughs and squeezes his shoulder. 

“Good luck tomorrow. You’ll crush Belgium; I know it.” 

Yuuri doesn’t, but hearing Viktor say it gives him confidence, too. 

“Thank you. Good luck with practice.” 

Viktor doesn’t seem ready to leave; he’s shuffling his feet, hesitating on the beginning of a sentence. 

“Maybe… I'll see you soon?” 

Yuuri doesn’t think twice. “Okay,” he says. “Text me?” 

“Great!” Viktor grins, then finally takes off, jogging down the hall. Yuuri watches him leave, and starts to think that maybe those rumors aren’t so unfounded after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The World Cup Quarter-finals start tomorrow, so I wanted to get this chapter out beforehand. Hope you guys enjoy :)


	4. Quarter-Finals

Yuuri Katsuki never expected to get this far. 

The Quarter-finals of the World Cup are tomorrow. Japan is up against Uruguay, with France and Brazil playing in the afternoon. Russia is facing Croatia the next day, and Sweden is playing England. 

That afternoon, at practice, Yuuri kneels at the edge of the field and prays to the football gods that he won’t mess this up. 

Coach Minako whistles for the team to approach. 

“All right, here’s the deal,” she begins, clasping her hands. “Uruguay’s midfielders play a very defensive game. That means our midfield should be on the attack. Fujiwara, Omiki, don’t be afraid to push forward.” 

“Got it,” says Fujiwara. Omiki nods resolutely. 

“Minami, Uruguay stumbles more when the ball’s on the left side of the field. If it gets there, you push it forward. Pass to Yuuri if he’s open, but don’t lose possession. You follow, midfield. You might have to shoot. Minami, if you’re within scoring distance and think you can make it, try. But don’t do anything crazy–” 

Minami shakes out his hair, then puts his hands on his hips. 

“I won’t! You can count on me, Minako- _sensei_.” 

“Good. Yuuri?” 

“ _Hai_.” 

Minako smiles in that thoughtful, evaluative way that indicates she’s come to a conclusion. 

“Just do your thing.” 

It sounds trite, but it’s the right advice. When he’s thinking about the Cup, Yuuri becomes a ball of nerves. His teammates might as well be kicking _him_ around the field. It’s only when he’s playing, and his concentration is centered on the game, that Yuuri forgets his fears. He squeezes his eyes shut and reminds himself that he can’t be nervous doing what he loves. 

***

The night before the Japan-Uruguay match, Viktor doesn’t go out. Usually, the team gets dinner together after training, but today, everyone splits off and does his own thing. Even when Georgi texts a photo of himself at a local restaurant, Viktor doesn’t yield. He orders room service and eats at his desk in silence. The team has practice in the early morning, but that isn’t the only reason for Viktor’s solitude. 

Truth be told, he’s nervous: not for himself, but for Yuuri. 

Viktor needs the Japanese team to do well. The more he talks to Yuuri, the more excited he gets about the possibility of them competing against each other. He wants to see Yuuri in action, to play a challenging game against an opponent with the same love of football that Viktor has. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking about this when the Russian team has its own game to focus on, but he can’t help it. Viktor’s mind rambles when he’s alone. 

At least he isn’t completely by himself. Viktor’s room is connected to Yuri Plisetsky’s by a sliding door, which is currently closed. Viktor tried keeping it open the first few days of the competition, but Yuri would slam it shut, claiming Viktor was too loud, too habitually naked, and too _everything_ for his comfort. Oh, well. At least he knows Yuri’s close by, if Viktor wants company. 

He sends a quick message to Yuuri, while it’s still early. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Udachi! That’s Russian for “good luck”  


**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Spasibo :)  


Dear god, if Viktor’s silly little heart doesn’t skip a _beat_. 

“What’s something flirty I can say back?” He asks himself. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
!! You’re learning! You’ll be fluent in no time~ 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
That’s flattering, but I’m not that good at languages. 

Viktor pouts. Did Yuuri take the text seriously, or is he just ignoring Viktor’s flirting? _Silly Yuuri_ , he huffs, face falling into his pillow. He quickly types out a message and hits send. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
That’s ok. There are plenty of other things you’re good at ;) Besides football, I mean. 

It takes a minute, but Viktor gets a reply. 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Like what? 

A mischievous grin spreads across his face. _If he’s asking–_

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Looking and being adorable. 

“Ha!” He shouts, as he sends the message. “Take that!” 

The sliding door cautiously opens. Yuri Plisetsky pokes his head out of the connecting bedroom, frowning. 

“Who are you talking to, old man?” 

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Yura. Just myself.” 

Yuri gives him a long look. 

“You’re so weird,” he scoffs, before closing the door again. Viktor’s phone buzzes to announce Yuuri’s response. He grins and opens it, but the text puzzles him. 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
.////. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
What is .////.? 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
It’s a blushing face. 

“Wow,” Viktor whispers. “Amazing.” 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Don’t tell me you’re shy? 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Sometimes. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
How come? 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
I get anxious. 

“Yura!” Viktor shouts, leaping up from the sofa and blasting open the sliding door. Yuri’s on his computer and looks caught off guard. He slams it shut, matching Viktor’s lack of decorum. 

“Holy sh– what, Viktor?” 

Well, if _that_ reaction isn’t overblown. 

“…What are you looking at?” Viktor asks, stepping forward with a devilish twinkle in his eye. 

“None of your business–“ 

“Is it photos of that Kazakh midfielder again–“ 

“Nikiforov! Why are you in my room?” 

“What do you say if someone tells you they’re anxious?” 

“Huh?” Yuri narrows his eyes, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“If a friend tells you that they have anxiety.” 

“Why do you ask me?” 

“Because you’re anxious all the time–“ 

“I’m pissed off,” Yuri corrects. “Because you ask me dumb questions like this. You’re a pro athlete in a competitive sport; how do you not know what to say? Reassure them! Tell them that you support them, or something.” 

Viktor knows what to say; he’s given his team enough pep talks in recent months to know what works and what doesn’t. It’s more that he wants a second opinion. He’s nervous himself, of messing up and scaring Yuuri away for good. 

“Okay. Thanks, Yura!” 

"Close my door–” 

Viktor does so, then flops back onto the couch. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
I understand. You have nothing to be anxious about with me. 

He takes a moment, thinking, before adding: 

Am I making you uncomfortable? 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
No. You’re very kind. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
.////. In case you can’t tell I’m blushing 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Flattery works on you, I see :)  
Well in that case  
You probably already know, but I admire you a lot 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor breathes. He does know; he can see it in the way Yuuri plays, the quick attacks he makes on goal, the unexpected passes to teammates at the ready. But that isn’t all. Yuuri has beautiful moments that aren’t a product of following Viktor’s career, but of his own drive and talent. He makes long passes across the field and positions himself in the right place to score. Viktor admires him, too. 

He tells him so. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
It’s entirely mutual. 

Yuuri sends a photo of himself lifting a brow at the camera. Viktor doesn’t know what to say, at first, because there’s no text accompanying it – just Yuuri’s puzzled face. He clasps a hand over his mouth, trying not to giggle; it’s impossible. Viktor opens the camera to take a picture of himself, but he can’t manage anything other than a goofy expression, caught in mid-laugh. 

Viktor’s phone is silent, it seems, for a long time. 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Almost as beautiful as seeing you in person. 

Viktor shrieks. 

“Do I need to call an exorcist?” Plisetsky yells, from the other room. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
YUURI  
I AM PROFOUNDLY CHARMED  
Oh shit sorry for all caps 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Are you, though? : >

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
As they say, sorry, not sorry 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
Give Demi Lovato the proper credit 

Good lord, he wants to marry this boy. 

**[To: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
You’ll do amazingly tomorrow. 

**[From: Yuuri Katsuki]**  
I hope so. 

Viktor does, too. He really, really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russia is out of the Cup, so this fic is officially 100% canon-divergent from real life. XD
> 
> Semi-finals start tomorrow! Gooooo France!


	5. Semi-Finals

_One step closer_ , Yuuri thinks, running down the field. 

Japan has beaten Uruguay and reached the semi-finals of the World Cup, the stage at which teams can no longer get by on bullshit. Stalling for time and trying to keep leads without scoring won’t work anymore. They’re playing against France and don’t want the game to drag into extra time. If Japan is going to reach the final, they need to hit hard and secure a quick win. 

Yuuri realizes that isn’t going to happen when he gets a yellow card before half-time. 

He’s racing toward the ball, trying to steal it away from a French midfielder who’s just won possession. Yuuri sees the blur of a white circle and kicks out, but he hits the French player in the shin. Falling to the ground, the midfielder lets out an agonized shriek that is only acceptable in men’s football. 

That’s when the ref blows his whistle. He is already reaching into his pocket for the yellow card. 

“Ah, come on!” Minami groans. 

Yuuri holds out a hand to the French player, who accepts it with a grumble. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s ok, just watch it–“ 

“He was watching the _ball_ ,” Minami cuts in. 

“What?” 

“Minami, leave him alone–“ 

The referee has to get between the three players and shove Minami away before warning Yuuri to be more careful. 

“Yes, I understand.” 

They go to extra time. Yuuri is beyond exhausted, but he scores a goal in the 109th minute that brings Japan to their first-ever World Cup final. The next day, Russia follows suit with a crushing 2-1 win against England. 

_Last step of the tournament_. 

_***_

__  


Yuuri can hardly believe it. Even as the team is watching the news in Minako’s hotel room, all piled onto two beds, he still can’t believe it.

“ _Japan and Russia! It’s a Cinderella story at the 2018 FIFA World Cup, where the two remaining teams are set to play on Sunday in what might be the greatest final of all time_ ,” says Newscaster Morooka, who is covering the event for Japan. “ _Let’s hear what Nishigori Takeshi, Japanese team captain, has to say._ ” 

The screen cuts to a video taken after the game against France. Morooka- _san_ holds out a microphone to Nishigori, who is red-faced from exertion. 

“You look like a _tengu_ ,” Fujiwara quips. 

“ _Thoughts on Japan’s performance, Nishigori-san_?” 

“ _We’re going to kill it_!” 

Everyone besides Coach Minako starts laughing. 

“Is that really all you said?” She asks, unimpressed. 

Nishigori gives a self-satisfied shrug. 

“Yup.” 

“ _Katsuki-san, how do you feel after this semi-final_?” 

“That’s our Yuuri!” Minami shouts. 

“ _Like I’ve ascended to football heaven_ ,” the Yuuri-on-screen admits, as present-moment Yuuri hides his face. “ _I’m really looking forward to this chance to help Japan win the World Cup. No matter who we play, it will be an exciting game_." 

“So articulate,” Nishigori teases. 

“ _Russia’s incredible win against England has also brought them to their first final. Let’s hear from Russian team captain Viktor Nikiforov_!” 

That’s right – the footage of Yuuri was taken before Japan knew whom they would confront in the final. 

“ _Mr. Nikiforov, this is an unprecedented achievement for your team. What’s the secret behind your success?_ ” 

“ _We have a great coach, Yakov Feltsman, who brought us together and helped us reach our potential as a team. It’s amazing to see that our hard work has paid off, and we’re happy to represent Russia here at home_.” 

“ _Between you and me… Who will be scoring in the final, you or teammate Yuri Plisetsky_?” 

Viktor gives the camera a coy look. 

“ _We’ll just have to_ –“ 

At that moment, Plisetsky chooses to leap in front of the camera, blocking Viktor from view. 

“ _Me, clearly! Though Viktor will do his best, I’m sure_.” 

“ _What are your thoughts about facing Japan_?” 

Viktor straight-up shoves Plisetsky out of the way. 

“ _Japan has a great team, and it’s an honor to play against them. We’re going to give it our all_.” 

“Aww, cute,” Minami croons. “Viktor thinks it’s an honor to play against you.” He flops onto Yuuri, making googly eyes at him. 

Yuuri coughs into his elbow. 

“I’m pretty sure he said the team–“ 

“Don’t give me that!” 

Again, the room swells with laughter, and Yuuri buries his face in his hands. 

***

Viktor doesn’t expect to spend the day before the World Cup Final complaining about Guns N’ Roses. He also didn’t think anyone could listen to _Appetite for Destruction_ on repeat for an entire day, but Yuri Plisetsky has a habit of proving him wrong. It started at practice, when Yakov made the terrible decision of letting Yuri play music; now it’s carried over to his and Viktor’s connecting rooms at the hotel. The fifth time he hears the opening riff of “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Viktor is out of there. 

Something else he doesn’t expect: seeing Yuuri Katsuki right outside his door. 

“Oh – hey,” Yuuri squeaks. 

Viktor brightens, grabbing his arm and hurrying down the hall. 

“Yuuri! Perfect timing,” he whispers. “Save me.” 

“F-from what?” Yuuri asks. 

“Plisetsky won’t stop playing Guns N’ Roses, and it’s driving me insane.” 

Yuuri cracks a smile so adorable, Viktor thinks he might melt. 

“Is that all? Where’s your mental fortitude, Viktor?” 

“You would understand, too, if you’d been listening to hard rock since six in the morning.” 

“That’s fair,” Yuuri concedes. “I actually don’t like practicing with music in the background; it’s distracting.” 

Viktor slows his pace, finally far away enough that he doesn’t hear Slash’s guitar solo playing in the background. It’s his turn to smile, now that he can give Yuuri his full attention. 

“Why did you come by, anyway?” 

“I wanted to wish you good luck.” 

“Is that all?” Viktor jokes. 

Shuffling his feet, Yuuri looks down. He pulls away from Viktor, pacing back and forth in the hallway. It’s almost like Yuuri is ignoring him, or focusing so deeply that his thoughts appear elsewhere. 

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Viktor muses. “Are you nervous about the final?” 

Blinking, Yuuri glances over at him. Viktor can’t read the look on his face. 

(It’s a beautiful face, anyway.) 

“You know, you can do well. It’ll be a tough game for both of us, but you can win it with your own charm.” He grips Yuuri’s hand, warm and reassuring. “Can you picture it?” 

Yuuri pauses, pursing his lips, before interlacing their fingers. There’s no shyness in his movements, Viktor realizes; rather, Yuuri is steeling himself for what he’s about to do. He presses his forehead to Viktor’s, a few strands of hair brushing against Viktor’s cheek. 

“Don’t ever take your eyes off me.” 

Yuuri draws away, leaving the feeling of his breath hot against Viktor’s lips. He’s already making his way down the hall, determination in his steps. Slowly, as if not wanting to break the spell, Viktor touches his forehead. _Yuuri’s different today_ , he thinks. _I wonder what made him change_. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls, delighted. “Is that a challenge?” 

The Japanese forward shoots a confident look over his shoulder, but Viktor can still see Yuuri’s usual playfulness underneath it. 

“Maybe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _tengu_ is a Japanese folk spirit. In village festivals, _tengu_ masks are bright red and have long noses.
> 
> What a wild final. Congrats, France!! My fave, Croatia, made this fan proud <3  
> The World Cup is over, but this story isn't! Last chapter to come soon ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Tumblr: [tolstoyevskywrites](http://tolstoyevskywrites.tumblr.com)  
> Spotify playlists: [Otayuri](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/5i3uGBrwu9gfB9ynaOjiay) || Viktuuri: [1](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/7dtTAAISDjCfEjYoOV8IiU), [2](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/36xh2sv4YN7hdNWaAgDksu?si=eS1Qh7EMQCCxmXquXaP9MA)  
> 8tracks playlists (different from the Spotify ones): [here](http://8tracks.com/airini/collections/yuri-on-ice-playlists)  
> My other YOI fics: [Autotēles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351237/chapters/35620935) || [Stargazing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801836/chapters/31732521) || [Laurel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8871910) (& [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/71bLXqW2SxY9ETaY5sIxCS)) || [The Adventures of Russian Tiger Yuri Plisetsky and His Lovestruck Not-Coach](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8790199/chapters/20151052) || [Otayuri Oneshots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9341738/chapters/21166439) || [Breathe Easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851813)


End file.
